Long ago, Jason Bourne awoke in a strange country with no memory of his real name–only a nasty bout of amnesia, a collection of fake passports and the mysterious ability to kill people with his bare hands. The Bourne Ultimatum is (hopefully) the last of a mediocre trilogy about the memory-challenged CIA operative’s convoluted quest to discover his true identity. As a nearly indestructible CIA drone that was part of a top-secret assassination program that didn’t work out so well, Bourne (Matt Damon) is living proof of some government bigwig’s no-no. Thus, his fellow operatives are hunting him. This thin premise has been bloated with wholly unnecessary details and stretched across three films. Ultimatum‘s predecessors (The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy) have been described as “intelligent” spy movies, meaning the abundance of inane dialogue is fluffed up with big, official-sounding words that sometimes take precedence over the hand-to-hand combat, car chases and explosions. The Bourne Ultimatum is much of the same–70 percent expository jibber-jabbering and 30 percent good, honest action. If that ratio were switched, we’d have a pretty awesome flick on our hands. But in lieu of simply making a good film, director Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Supremacy, United 93) instead opts to befuddle audiences by filming with a convulsing, schizophrenic camera. The result is a nausea-inducing fiasco almost too confusing to pass judgment on. As the old cliché goes, you won’t really know what hit you (and that’s because you’ll be dizzy). Bourne’s search for his past brings him back home to New York, where he’s forced to take on Noah Vosen (played by ever-so-serious David Strathairn), the new CIA head in charge of making Bourne dead. Luckily, Vosen is the dumbest CIA guy you’ll ever meet, and Bourne outsmarts him at every turn. Sometimes the film really works. There’s something that never gets old about a man who longs for a quiet life but is forced to destroy an onslaught of foes instead. Many of Ultimatum‘s action sequences are truly inspired. A tense, low-speed chase through a crowded train station is almost brilliant. The efficient, robotic fashion in which Bourne disables all who come near him is breathtaking. It just doesn’t happen often enough. Damon, with his everyman demeanor and quiet charm, manages to carry the film beautifully, his hero-brooding a refreshing change from the rest of the cast, who do little more than spew plot-advancing tidbits like they’re zombie guest stars from ER. But the endlessly shifting camera ruins all. Even during quiet scenes–like when Bourne takes a hokey moment to regret all of the murders he’s committed–the camera incessantly flops, spins, and zooms in and out at terrifying speeds. One second, we’re admiring a bird’s eye view of Moscow after a snowstorm, the next we’re trapped in the wrinkles of Damon’s forehead. Directors often mistake the use the shaky-cam for evidence of artistic vision. I’m guessing that using this style is meant to mimic Bourne’s inner chaos, but it fails miserably, because while Bourne’s plight is intriguing in theory, we’re too motion-sick to care about his feelings. Unless, of course, those feelings involve kicking someone’s ass. The three movies are loosely based on a series of books by Robert Ludlum, who died in 2001. But there are two more Bourne books, written by Eric Van Lustbader, called The Bourne Legacy and The Bourne Betrayal respectively. A fourth movie adaptation is inevitable. Let’s hope that the filmmakers decide to use a tripod and that the plot is as simple as this: Jason Bourne is forced to beat up a lot of bad people. The end.
Hammering and yammering
